Former home of Ranting and Raving, Charlotte-based writer Regan White has taken a turn as a recovering journalist. Continue to follow the antics, anecdotes, sarcasm and sentimentalism here.

October 2007

October 31, 2007

P.S. Am I the only one who thinks that it was warmer at Christmas last year than it is tonight? I just walked the dogs in fleece pants, a shirt with a fleece pullover and a fleece-lined hat. And I was still cold. I know, I know, my blood has thinned. And no, I don't mean to complain -- much. It's just that once again it seems we had two days of interim weather. Once again I went from sweating in a tank top to wearing my full-length, goose-down coat. And in my closet my sweaters are sobbing.

I don't know how Wonder Woman is going to make it out in this, let me just say that. Wonder Woman is currently desperately searching for some fleece-lined, flesh-colored tights. Imagine how sexy a bulky pair of THOSE would be?!? I'd give that sexy Twister girl a run for her money, baby.

Good night and, although I won't officially say it until I wake up from sleep in the morning and successfully get my card reader to transfer the Wonder Woman photo, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

A fond farewell to the man who introduced me to the story of Camelot on many a road trip listening to the soundtrack ad nauseam with my parents. I loved the story instantly. It would be years before I'd realize that his voice was a large part of the appeal.

Robert, I hope you've found a spot as perfect for happy-ever-aftering as Camelot.

October 28, 2007

I just had to post a brief comment about the Typepad comments process. I love how after you type out a comment it asks you to type in a garbled security code, stating that "this is an effort to prevent robots from posting automated responses" or something like that.

I promised WIXE 1190 AM's Britt Pope that I would make an appearance at an event in Union County today dressed in my full Wonder Woman regalia and thus I found myself sprinting into my 10 a.m. flu shot appointment with my golden lasso flying. Literally. The flu clinic was greatly amused.

{As an aside, I have to say that the flu shot hurt more this year than any other. I take this as a distinct sign that flu strains must be getting nastier. I know the two don't correlate at all but MAN it is hard to be tough and dressed as Wonder Woman and barely be able to use your left arm for two hours thanks to the flu shot. You may ask why I was getting one, a ritual not exactly popular with the 20-something set. Indeed I was surrounded by proud AARP members and infants. However, I was advised quite some time ago that I should probably get a flu shot every year. I'm one of those people who can get a cold and in a week it's bronchitis or walking pneumonia and my childhood asthma kicks in and before you know it, I'm a hospital case. Yep, just call me resilient!}

Seriously, though. I'm loving the whole getup: the bulletproof cuffs, the dashing red cape, the tall red boots, the gold headband with a star in the middle. I think that, in the least, I'll try to incorporate capes into my wardrobe a little more often. Or metallic pleated skirts with stars on them.

I was at a Halloween party tonight and I can't help but think that the world would be a happier place if we dressed up in crazy costumes a little more often. (I hear you, Jordan. Many a man would also make a plea for more frequent showings of the Leg Avenue fare. I must tell you, that my friend John tonight was openly pointing at people and saying, "Yep, I think that's one of Leg Avenue's finest right there." The worst -- or best if you're a guy, really -- costume I saw tonight was someone dressed as a sexy Twister board that consisted of a skimpy white ruffled dress with colored dots on it. At one point she was wearing the spin board as a hat of sorts on top of her head but she lost it. Somehow. She wore matching patent leather yellow stilettos. I was told "Not to worry" and that she had Lycra shorts underneath it all, but a number of guys took the opportunity to lift her dress hem over her head only to reveal red boy short underwear, which technically are Lycra shorts just not the kind you'd imagine heading to the gym in.)

Anywhoo, Leg Avenue aside, there is some serious creativity out there. I love seeing it. I wish I saw more of it on a daily basis. To do my part, I resolve to expand my cape collection. I know, I'm practically Oprah with the extent of my philanthropy.

An official Wonder Woman photo will be posted tomorrow. For now I will simply sign off by remarking how I don't know if there is anything more wonderful than sliding into a cozy bed on a crisp fall night. Mmm mmm mmm... sleep well, sexy cats. WW

October 26, 2007

The results are in for the winners of this year's first-ever "Ranting and Raving 'I Want Candy' Photo Contest!" Woo hoo! The running was tight and those who participated went above and beyond. I will just guess that all the rest of you ran out of time. I admit as well that I became very lax about putting updates and reminders about the contest on here and one week the rant reminder fell out entirely in the paper to make room for other, more pressing, news.

But I digress. And why complain when the winners are THIS GOOD?

First place easily went to Connie Capp who sent in these hilarious photos of her daughters.

Capp writes, "Proving your theory, these innocent Wonder Women from the '80s are now celebrating Halloween as French maids. They met last year at a Halloween party, not knowing what the other was wearing. Turns out they made identical French maid costumes. I imagine they have a lot more fun as French maids but thankfully we parents don't know the details of that!"

Second place went to Michael Gibbons for the shot of him and wife Rhonda dressed as the Blue Man Group. Sadly, there was not enough room in the paper for all he wrote. I will list it in full here.

Gibbons writes, "OK. So the deal is, I had to find the right hue of blue. Party City -- ah ha!! Perfect!! I bought about 12 tubes, hoping to God there was no cadmium in the China-produced goo. If it was cadmium blue then gobbing it all over Rhonda and my face would probably equate to sucking on 127 lead-based Thomas (the Train) cabooses, you know!

"Anyway, so style won out and once my hair was satisfactorily tucked in a flesh-colored skullcap, I was ready to apply the blue. Thing is, it worked awesome and I remember thinking, 'Hey, I am good! I got Hollywood-quality makeup at $3 a tube!' And of course, being a guy, more is better, so I slathered it on thick. When I went downstairs to show Rhonda I was ecstatic. I looked like I was ready for The Venetian! Rhonda followed suit and we were ready to go -- best costumes ever!

"Thing is, after talking a bit, the laugh lines started to crease and the blue gave way. No problem, this stuff had such high-coverage quality that I still had three tubes to carry (with us) and reapply. More is better -- actually, more is cakey.

"So off we went to visit my parents and a couple friends. That's when things started to unravel. I first noticed the blue specks on the car seat. But no problem -- I was drying out, so I applied more wet blue. The more the better, you know? Well, by the time we got to our friends' house and sat down on their couch for a beer, the blue hit the fan. I was cracking all over. Most distressing was the gap between the skullcap and my skin, a very noticeable line of exposed white skin. I applied more blue.

"Did I mention our friends' couch was a shade above pure white and when I looked down there were tons of blue specks (on it)? Being a guy, I tried to pick up the chalky blue chip. Oops, it smeared on the couch. Did not expect that. So we did what anyone in that situation would do -- we bolted -- quickly. 'What do you mean you have blue stuff all over the couch? No, the makeup stayed on really well. Sorry, it must have been the Smurfs that came over later!'

"I still have some blue goo, by the way."

Gibbons also submitted the following photo of the year he went as Julia Childs.

Thanks to everyone who participated and followed the contest. Both Capp and Gibbons will receive candy prize packs of love. Speaking of, I'm having a terrible time securing wax lips. Who knew? Word must have gotten out that they smelled great and tasted horrible. If anyone runs across any, please, let me know ASAP. I never thought I'd say that about wax lips. Ever.

October 25, 2007

I had a horrible day today. Horrible. Yesterday was bad. Today was worse.

I came home and had no recourse but to head straight to bed. I crawled under all of my covers with my clothes on and leafed through the entire Victoria's Secret holiday catalog before I rolled over onto my side and listlessly pressed my face against my pillow, listening to the rain. I don't even think I slept, really. I just kind of went into a brain freeze where my whole body tried to recover from the onslaught of the day's angst.

It was nothing big -- just tons of little crap that amassed together is the kind of thing that slowly sucks one's soul away. You know -- little stuff.

Alison Woo then called me. We haven't spoken much, but she knows how I've been lately. She said, "Are you OK?"

I grunted.

"Are you lying face down in your bed?" she asked.

I had to start laughing then. "Why yes! I'm even drooling!" It was true.

She quickly made me feel better and it, and my 30 or 40 minutes of absolute brain hibernation, was just what I needed. I saddled up and headed out to Target to make the most of the last 30 minutes they were open. I bought tons of Halloween candy and, to reward myself for still breathing, a vintage T-shirt covered in Halloween Peanuts characters, including a jack-'o-lantern with Snoopy coming out the top and Woodstocks coming out of each of the pumpkin's eye holes. Awesome. I'm wearing it to bed right now. It combined with my glow-in-the-dark ghost pillowcase really make me quite the holiday whore, I think.

The Halloween parties begin this weekend. I think I'm going to just start wearing my costume from Saturday straight through Halloween on Wednesday. I may even wear my costume to the Charlotte Latin/Country Day alumni showdown at Memorial Stadium on Friday.

This Halloween marks a dream come true for me. I'm going as Wonder Woman. I've always wanted to be her for Halloween. I had a long stint as Super Girl when I was little, largely because I had a full Super Girl pajama set that I hardly ever took off, complete with footies and a cape. But even then I was aware that every version of Super Girl had blonde hair. And while I may have longed for blonde hair as a child, even going so far as draping my satin nightgowns over my head and referring to them as my long blonde hair, I always knew deep down that it just didn't suit me. I also have a proclivity to standing with my hands on my hips precisely like Wonder Woman. I've had a number of people wonder aloud that I haven't been her before.

And so, finally the two of us shall be one. I don't think the costume is heinously sexy or slutty. I did not get my costume at Morris Costumes (and have been supplementing it on my own), but was eager to see its selection. I laughed aloud to find they had my costume (not in the Leg Avenue sexy section), and then a really slutty version that was high cut in the fashion of '80s-style Playboy bathing suits -- the kind that are cut well over the hip bone and you can almost see your belly button through the side of your leg holes it's cut so high. It made me laugh. "This certainly is not the suitable-for-work version," I told Alison. She agreed.

Side notes to friends who I know read this:

Kate: I promise to call you. I miss you. I'm sorry I've been a chump. You would not have wanted to talk to me lately anyway.

Heather: An e-mail is on your way soon. I loved the brief update. You crack me up.

October 22, 2007

That's right, my good, loyal friends. My childhood has been destroyed by a little costume conglomerate called the ever-amusing name Leg Avenue, one of the most popular manufacturer's of sexy costumes.

Alison Woo and I traveled into Monroe on Friday afternoon for a brief appearance on WIXE 1190AM, on location at the satellite Morris Costumes location. We had the opportunity to meet Mr. Morris himself, see the Big Foot costume he made that would eventually become famous the world over, AND peruse the store's mind-boggling selection of freaky, frightful and downright childhood-devastating costumes.

The sexy costume aisles were more expansive than I ever imagined. They were clustered together. The sexy construction workers grouped with sexy cops, firefighters and plumbers. Next were the sexy fairies with Tinkerbell leading the helm. Then came sexy character costumes including the ENTIRE cast of "The Wizard of Oz" (all made sexy - even the Cowardly Lion had little furry bootlets), sexy Raggedy Ann (which just seems plain wrong), sexy Strawberry Shortcake, sexy Snow White, sexy Little Bo Peep, sexy Hermione (amusingly labeled 'Witch Wanda') and -- the trump card -- sexy Rainbow Brite.

I loved Rainbow Brite as a kid. L-O-V-E-D. What am I saying, "as a kid?" Let me rephrase -- I love Rainbow Brite. What Leg Avenue has done to Rainbow Brite is wrong. Criminal even. What I love most is that for the bargain-basement price of $59.99 you can get a sexy Rainbow Brite costume, complete with short-short skirt and poofy sleeves. For only $10 more, you can get even LESS fabric and a skanky Rainbow Brite costume with basically a fur-lined bra-let and miniskirt. That's right - you get less, for more.

But in the end, aren't you really getting more? What apple-pie raised American girl would ever choose the plebeian crop-top Rainbow Brite (could you get any more conservative?) over slutty Rainbow Brite with the kicky bra top? Look at the photos, people. That cheaper Rainbow Brite costume was practically designed by nuns. You might as well just throw on a burlap sack and write "Rainbow Brite" on it in permanent marker.

October 19, 2007

So... if you read Charlotte Weekly you'll see that I interviewed Mayor Pat McCrory this week. It was nearly impossible to write the story, in that when it was completed it was WELL over 3,000 words. I needed it to be less than half that for the space I was looking at. Given the material, trimming it was a tough order.

Anyway, on Tuesday night the story weighed heavily on my mind. I had stayed up until 3:30 a.m. or so trying to cut down the McCrory story and then transcribing and writing a piece on the new Encore condominium development planned for uptown that will simultaneously renovate and save the Carolina Theatre, which originally opened in 1927 or so.

Back to Tuesday night, I had just shut my laptop and Mayor McCrory must have been heavy on my mind because I dreamed that I went to withdraw money from the ATM and it told me my account was no longer recognized. It recommended I call some phone number and then just kept spitting a bunch of paperwork at me telling me to get a new Social Security number and essentially saying that I didn't exist.

While I was trying to collect the reams of paper that had spewed from the ATM machine, my cellphone rang and it was some representative from the Democratic party, screaming at me that in all my coverage of McCrory I gave the democrats a mere paragraph or so. I was just as tired and discombobulated in my dream as I was while asleep in my bed. In my dream I manged to stammer, "Well, it IS a two part series. That WAS only the republican portion. We are writing about Beverly Earle this week or next..."

But the democrat who phone me was having none of it and said, "We will erase you."

And the democrats erased my identity. Nice, eh? What a freaky little dream.

Can you believe it's drizzling outside? I know it means we're nowhere close to fixing the drought, but it's just amazing. I was just outside where it was lightly landing on my cheeks and it felt lovely. Rain was never more welcome than now -- regardless of your political affiliation.

October 15, 2007

OK, I think it's time I devote a small little space to Hardee's now that the fast food chain has rolled out a 920-calorie, 60-fat-gram breakfast burrito. This little guy, dubbed the Country Breakfast Burrito, includes two egg omelets (From what I've read that's not one omelet with two eggs. No, it's actually two omelets.) filled with bacon, sausage, diced ham, cheddar cheese, hash browns and sausage gravy, all wrapped in a flour tortilla. The monstrosity is available for the bargain-basement low price of $2.69 by itself or $4.09 for a combo that includes hash rounds and coffee.

The fast-food restaurant's head of marketing claims that the burrito offers the big breakfast normally found at sit-down restaurants with the added benefit of being portable -- oh yeah, and offering more than half your daily caloric intake and well more than your entire recommended saturated fat and sodium counts for the day.

This breakfast item comes from the very same restaurant that introduced a 1,420-calorie Monster Thickburger and the 1,100-calorie, 83-fat-gram chicken salad.

I'm all for reverse psychology but give me a BREAK. I would have KILLED to be a fly on the wall during that initial marketing and product planning meeting where the Hardee's big wigs sat around thinking, making doodles on notepads and saying, "Well, I mean, we offer fast food. Somehow the grilled salmon salad just seems, I don't know, really DIFFICULT."

And then a big, fatty lightbulb would go off and someone would say, "Wait! Why are we even trying to compete with anyone else and offer healthy offerings? Let's go the OTHER way and offer the fattest, most unhealthy offerings we can think of."

A round of cheers would follow and then new drawing pads would be brought out so Hardee's could plan wrapping hot dogs in pizzas and then frying them. It reminds of the SNL skits back in the days of Jimmy Fallon making fun of the fried chalupas at Taco Bell, talking about taking a taco and wrapping it in another taco, then a gordita, and another chalupa then a pizza and rolling it all in a subway sandwich, wrapping it in another tortilla and then frying it all.

What's REALLY bad is if you visit the Hardee's siteyou quickly get an idea from the loop of commercials on the main page's TV that their target audience is "young males on the move" as one of their food writeups said. Their ads portray 18- to 30-year-olds as Neanderthal-like species who can barely function, monosyllabically on the search for food. I'm not saying the portrayal isn't apt for some people I've come across, but if I were a guy, I'd be ticked.

My favorite part about the Hardee's AP report I read was the quote about how Washington's Center for Science in the Public Interest called Hardee's line of Thickburgers "food porn."

I don't even have a further comment after that. From now on, whenever I see fast-food excess I'm just going to utter "food porn."

Seems I've fallen off the wagon again with the posting, my friends. So, so sorry. Busy weekend, busy Monday, busy life. And now I think I'm sick. That's right -- the most dreaded of all fall occurrences. I didn't notice anything at first because my allergies are always horrendous thanks to the normal facts of living down here combined with the fact that we haven't received any rain to wash the allergens away in six months or so. (April, I think, was the last time we had an inch of rain at a time. We're in trouble -- big time.) And so, this morning when I couldn't clear the snot from my head, or the sinus headache I had going on, I didn't think too much of it. I live like this.

Then on my way to work I randomly choked on my own saliva. Has anyone else ever done that? I mean, seriously, I wasn't swallowing anything. I didn't have any milk or Coke or water in my mouth. I wasn't chewing gum or eating Fritos. I was just driving along and out of nowhere literally choked on nothing -- like my own spit, that was it. Charming, eh? Have I mentioned what a catch I am? Let me tell you by describing how I thought I'd have to pull over to the side of the road as I clutched the steering wheel and tried to suck in air. It was great. And hot. Have I mentioned hot yet?

Needless to say, when I couldn't stop coughing the rest of the morning I thought it was simply a repercussion from my near-death, on-road gag-reflex experience. But as the morning progressed it got worse. By 3 p.m. I couldn't stop coughing and sneezing. I went to Harris Teeter around 3:30 to grab some vitamin-packed Naked juice, orange juice and some soup and the sneezing wouldn't stop. My eyes were tearing from the sneezing and fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I stood staring at the cheese and yogurt. As I dabbed at my eyes, other shoppers gave me a wide berth clearly keeping away from whatever contagion I was/am plagued with.

This is no good. No good at all. I just got home after spending most of my day transcribing interviews, one of my least favorite activities in the world. It's bad enough to go through a draining hour-long interview. To then have to listen to it again and hear word for word all the lame things you say in an interview, all your own lame idiosyncrasies, is excruciating. Now, before I begin writing my stories this evening I think I will -- ooh, what else? take a small nap I think.

I'm officially in sick mode -- stocking up on fluids of both the beverage and hot soup variety, packing back vitamin C and stripping down and taking to bed early. It's the plague for sure.

The following picture is not actually me, but my sister. I'm sure she'll be thrilled that I'm using it. But I think it conveys the message of impending doom and health crises nicely. This was taken a year or so ago when she got caught in a rainstorm of hurricane-like proportions and then took ill because of it. Blasted rain -- you're sick if you get some, you're sick if you don't get any!

October 11, 2007

I came home from work today totally wiped out. There really wasn't any good reason for it either except that I haven't been sleeping well lately and my dogs aren't helping matters.

As good Rant reader Jordan Beall points out, my dog is indeed named Leeloo after the "Fifth Element" character of the same name. Her brother is named Korben, although he's nothing like Bruce Willis. He's a whiner and last night I almost left him in his cage in the driveway. He cried almost all night long. After weeks of sleeping in my bed, I cozied them into their cages last night so I could get some solid shut-eye. Korben cried for 45 minutes because he was thirsty after his allergy pill. I then gave up and let them back on my bed, where they consequently jumped on and off and lapped up water from their bowl in my bathroom for another hour. They then whined to go out, which we did at 2 a.m. Then they came in and were possessed, running through the house leaping, prancing, pouncing, growling and playfully barking at each other. It took me another 15 minutes to hunt them down and haul them back into their cages. Needless to say, if I hear a single peep from either one of them tonight it won't be good.

Anyway, I don't know how I drove home I was so shot. I came home muttering about how I should go to the gym, all while laying down on my bed, cozying under my down blanket and passing out. I awoke three hours later. Man, it was a good nap -- except that I woke up and it was dark out and I had a good 15 minutes where I had to assess what day it was, where exactly I was and if there was anything else I should be doing. I ate a handful of Reese's Pieces to revive myself.

I don't understand people who don't like naps. Honestly. I like sleep however I can get it. I really don't know any girls who hate naps, call it hormones or what have you, but really I can't imagine running into a female who would scoff at a few minutes (or hours, in my case) of repose. I do, however, know a NUMBER of guys who abhor naps. They say they get overheated and wake up feeling sweaty and nasty. They say it's not right outside of sleeping, that it seems wasteful and selfish. They say they wake up feeling ornery and not at all rested. How can this be? Is there something on the Y chromosome that makes it scientifically impossible for most guys to appreciate naps? Or maybe it's something on the X chromosome that makes girls really, really like naps. I'm not sure.

All I know is that my lack of sleep had me functioning very poorly this morning. It was just one of those days where I felt eternally behind. I was supposed to be at an event at 7:30 a.m. I must have gotten to sleep around 2:30 or 3. My alarm went off at 6 and I responded fairly well. I sat up in bed. I inwardly remarked about how I did not feel well and it was going to be a rough transition from sleep to awake with the headache I was packing. Then a time warp took over. Aliens must have descended on my bedroom and drugged me because next I knew the calendar alarm on my phone was ringing to signal that the event was starting in 15 minutes. It was 7:15. I sprang out of bed like a shot and stood there holding my phone in my pajamas, assessing the situation. I hauled to get ready but again, somewhere in the middle there the alien serum returned and I didn't get out of the house until 8:45 -- only to find my car running on fumes. My gas light came on as I sat in heavy traffic at Rea Road and Highway 51. You know how I feel about gas lights. Realizing that I wouldn't encounter a gas station until SouthPark mall and with traffic the way it was, I sadly turned down and got gas at the Arboretum.

By that point, the lethargy was sinking back in. I had eaten an apple rice cake in the car. (Have I mentioned I've given up gluten in a sick and twisted allergy experiment? I've been cold turkey since Saturday. It's a great time. I practically AM a rice cake at this point.) It clearly wasn't doing the trick. I was starving. I was bleary-eyed. I was pumping gas. And this sleazy guy pulls up to the next pump and proceeds to not-so-covertly check me out the entire time. What did this guy think? That I was going to drop the gas nozzle, stride up to him and say, "You're the man I've been looking for with your two gold teeth. Come away with me, my love!" I wanted to look over and say, "Really?! Not today, buddy. Not today." Instead, I leaned with my against my car, my forehead resting on my forearm and thought, "Please, please, please just get me through until me early evening nap."

October 10, 2007

Sooo... maybe I shouldn't have mocked the whole drought thing a month or so ago. Turns out we're really not getting any rain, and probably never will again. I've started to see bald dirt patches on the lawn, a whole new low. I'm going to have to take to purchasing gallons of distilled water, heating them on the stove and filling a wooden-slat barrel with them at night for my evening bath. Seriously, what are we going to do? I hate rain, but this is ridiculous. Really ridiculous. We're in so much trouble. I thought it would only be my kids or grandkids who would be slapped with insane environmental troubles like this. It looks like the world could destroy itself, well us at least, much more quickly than I had first imagined. Damn.

Also, is anyone else concerned about the fact that it was 95 degrees today and we're nearly in the middle of October? I'm scared. I'm also sweating my butt off. What happened to wearing sweaters in the fall? Or drinking hot mugs of cider? I went for a long walk the other night as it started to get dark and although leaves were crunching under my feet, it didn't feel right to also be sweating at the same time. And in a tank top. And shorts.

And Lord knows my allergies could use a little bit of rain and cooler weather for a change. It's like I have TB. And the flu. And strep throat. Altogether. I might not survive until the next rain or to see the next ice age of our planet.

Going to sleep and waking up are perhaps the worst when all my antihistamine and decongestant wears off and I'm left a sniveling, sore-throated mess. And forget taking Benadryl at night if I have any hope of waking up in the morning. I might as well knock back some heavy narcotics for the effects it has on me. I held a single Benadryl in my hand tonight before wistfully put it away as I sniveled, sad and dejected. Another night with nothing. It's better than taking it and only faintly hearing my morning alarm as if I'm inside a submarine on the ocean floor.

Another night alone. Benadryl-less. And sniveling.

So please, rain. I didn't mean it. Honest. I'd change for you, really. I'll put on galoshes even and romp around in puddles. I will love you every time you visit. I will try better to fully appreciate you. I'm sorry I took you for granted. I'm sorry I said I never needed you. I didn't know how wrong I was. Rain, rain don't go away. Come back. Really. Please.

October 09, 2007

I don't know if I've told you guys before, but I go in cycles of finding songs I love and wearing them out. Like I play them on loop for hours and hours and hours. In the past two days it's been Ingrid Michaelson. She does that sweater song ("The Way I Am") in the new Old Navy commercials. But that's not the song I'm obsessed with. Instead, it's the song "Breakable." Somehow it has spoken to me lately and how delicate we are, how tenuous our lives are.

I have this sick of habit of also envisioning what the perfect video for each song would be if it were me singing/producing it all. A good example is like when I was on the Habitat Bicycle Challenge in 2002 and I stopped all over the place and would gesture to the picturesque chalky dunes of the Black Hills of South Dakota against the darkened July skies or the snow-peaked spires of the Tetons against the sky or the sun rising over steaming swamp in Yellowstone and I'd stand in my pedals and say, "This would be the PERFECT place for a music video." However, there are a select few songs I can imagine ice skating to. My ice skating career peaked early and surely wasn't illustrious but there are certain songs that I can imagine gliding along seamlessly to on the ice. This, for some reason, is one of them. Minus the sparkly leotard with the fake flesh-colored netting. How come ice skaters hardly ever use cool music competitively? I'd like to start the singer/songwriter Ice Capades. Folk song figure skating.

October 07, 2007

Keri and I went into a Yankee Candle store today. I hardly ever go into Yankee Candle because those things last forever. You could burn those puppies for an entire year and I'm confident they'd still keep trucking.

Anyway, this one woman working there is like the Yankee Candle Nazi. My sister and I were sniffing candles and this employee all of a sudden apprehended two people next to us saying, "Excuse me. I'm sorry to bother you, but can I give you some advice about how to smell these candles?"

It was so weird. You could tell the couple was dismayed, as they slowly put their noses into the jars looking at each other like, "Um, I thought you just put your nose in and sniffed, but whatever." They didn't nod or anything. Not like it mattered, the woman was going to give them advice on how to properly smell Yankee Candles regardless of whether they really wanted it or not.

"Instead of smelling from the small jars, you should always sample the smell from the large jars," the employee instructed. "And instead of smelling the wax, you should smell the inside of the glass lid of the jar. It will give off a more true smell of the candle scent. Sometimes the wax can get dulled. It's more accurate to smell the inside lid."

The couple just nodded bank with blank stares before hurrying along. It was almost intimidating to smell candles after that. I felt like I was in some kind of science class, with this employee as the instructor, walking up and down the rows of candles nodding her head, pleased with those who were correctly smelling the candles. It's a joke anyway. Those scents are so strong you'd have to be MISSING your nose in order to not have an idea of what any of their candles smell like.

Later, she approached my sister who was holding a large candle jar, the kind that is 80 pounds of glass and wax that will never melt away. "Please don't hold that by the lid," she scolded. "I see people do it all the time, and it might seem secure but eventually gravity always wins that battle. Plus, you have sandals on and I don't want it to fall on your toes. Please hold it from the base."

I had to walk away I was so tempted to laugh for I had seen my sister holding it firmly by the neck of the jar, just below the lid. My sister held her tongue until we left the store. "I wasn't holding it by the lid," she said sheepishly.

"I know," I said. "I know." We both smiled as we walked away. Damn candle Nazis.

And yes, as my sister points out, it's finally October. To mark the advent of one of my favorite months I purchased this glow-in-the-dark pillowcase at Target the other evening. Have you ever seen anything more fantastic in your entire life? In my stupor last night, I couldn't figure out how to properly photograph the ghosts glowing in the dark. I thought they shined pretty damn bright but my camera apparently didn't think so. I'll have to work on it some more. As I got ready for bed, I kind of forgot about the pillowcase altogether. I had my head against the pillow, turned off my lights and thought, there's something weird here. The sensation of the ghosts glowing so close to my eyeballs was a bit throwing.

For those of you also interested in bringing some Bootiful bedding into your bedroom, Target also is offering black pillowcases with glow-in-the-dark skeletons, a case with one giant ghost on it, and a neon green case with a black spiderweb. I kind of assumed that the pillowcases were for trick-or-treating purposes, but the product image had them on beds so I can't be the only crazy one out there. Or not.

Purchasing it reminded me of my brief but brilliant period where I sewed all my own pillowcases. I had a flannel leopard print case with a black curvy embroidered trim that I used through high school and college. I made two for my college boyfriend, a cowboy. One featured cowboys roping up cattle or something. I made that case pretty simple. I made a more fun one out of brown and white cow print flannel. I made the mistake of adding brown fringe to the seam decoration. In high school and college I had quite a hard time reigning in the flair. I understandably never saw that pillowcase in use. I cringe to think of that pillowcase.

But that's entirely the opposite of how I feel about this pillowcase, my friends. This case will stay on my pillow well past the Halloween holiday, I'm sure. There are ghosts of Christmas past, present and future.

This product is endorsed by the always lady-like Leeloo Annie, who, incidentally, looks a tad bit troubled by the new addition. Either that or by the fact that I was snapping shots of her around midnight, a time that she'd prefer to be in bed asleep.

You've heard of a moment of silence in honor of someone, I'm sure. Well, consider the past week or so a blog version of the same.

Brandon Elam's battle with cancer ended late Tuesday, Oct. 2, with his mom Anita, dad Scott and sister Brooke at his side at his second home, Carolinas Medical Center. It's astounding how much death can affect you, even when you know it's coming.

In some ways, I feel like I've written the majority of my feelings out -- between e-mails about it to friends and articles and things, in many ways, the past few days have left me remarkably quiet. I had wanted to post on the last night of September (yes, Sept. 30 - there are not 31 days in September as mistakenly wrote in CW this week. A correct version went out in UCW.) when I found myself holding a candle on Brandon's front lawn, surrounded by hundreds of others. The Elams' friend Kim Bellinghausen had called me that afternoon while I was at the Panthers' game, telling me that she was organizing a candlelight vigil that evening. Brandon's organs were shutting down and they knew he didn't have much longer. I told her I would be there and thanked her for thinking to call me. As I sat through a dismal hour and a half of the game, I couldn't help but think what a shame it was that the Panthers couldn't rouse themselves for a win, for Brandon at least, surely their No. 1 fan. (He has the room to prove it.)

At 7:30 p.m. hundreds had gathered at the entrance to Brandon's development. It was unbelievable. Members of the Monroe-based nonprofit Hometown Heroes led the way on their motorcycles as moms and dads and children and teenagers and grandmothers and grandfathers wound their long way through the neighborhood, candles in hand. The only sound you could hear was the reverberating hum of the motorcycles resounding against the houses and the chatter of teenagers. At first I was annoyed, thinking, "Dude, it's a vigil. This is a sacred moment. Shut up!" Then I stopped myself and realized these were Brandon's peers. Upon the realization, their familiar talk about school and teachers and who e-mailed whom and who was dating whom and the like made me smile. It didn't escape my notice either that they were about the same age I was when I lost my first friend to cancer. It took me back a good decade or so earlier when my friends and I gathered at the home of our friend, in the dark, to say our prayers, say our last goodbyes and watch our friend pass to the other side.

The Elams didn't know we were coming. They came outside at the sound of the motorcycle engines. The scene was astounding, with hundreds of candles filling their darkened front lawn and spilling into the street. The silence that occurred as the family, with large tears welling in their eyes, looked back upon supporters and friends was spiritual and filled with love. Brandon's pastor voiced what we were all thinking, "Look around you," he said. "This is what love looks like."

If you live in the Charlotte area and read CW or UCW then you've read me describe it before. You already know how Brandon awoke while we were there. You've already read about how everyone gathered - hundreds and hundreds of people - flooded into the Elams' house in single file and wound their way around the living room couch where Brandon lay frail and tiny, but the same old Brandon with those large, brown eyes. He greeted each and everyone person with a simple, "hi!" and a hug. It was beautiful. I bent down and hugged him. I could feel every bone in his back and shoulders in the brief moment that I pressed him lightly into me. I told him to restSTRONG.

When I heard on Wednesday morning that he had passed away, fat tears plopped onto my keyboard. No matter how much I knew it was coming, it's still something else to definitively hear the news.

The turnout to Brandon's visitation and funeral are a testament to the effect he had on literally thousands of people in our region. It's remarkable to me how some people have that ability -- the ability to touch so many people without even saying very much.

For me, I'll never forget his smile and his resolve to make his life as normal as possible. He never wanted to talk about cancer or about his treatments. When I pulled off the course at 24 Hours of Booty this July and heard his family calling my name, my sister and I wheeled over to say hello. I couldn't believe how much frailer he had become in the weeks since I had seen him last. He was in a wheelchair. He had had chemotherapy that morning and every day that week. And still he smiled. While I wanted to ask him about his treatments and how things were going, he, instead, wanted to know what it was like to ride in 24 Hours of Booty. He asked my sister if it was difficult to get used to her bike and hard to ride on such skinny tires. It was easy to forget how athletic he had been, excelling in every sport but especially football and baseball, before his illness. The exchange reminded me why more than 1,000 people hit the Booty Loop this year in the first place.

And Brandon will always remind me why I should cherish every day. Why I should smile even when I don't feel like doing so. How I should never take anything for granted. And how even today, with all of our technology and our buzzers and beepers and Blackberrys, the greatest influences of our time can still be 16-year-old boys.